


The Best Bang for Your Buck

by deathbanjo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Puns, Comedy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbanjo/pseuds/deathbanjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Castiel knows who this GotImpala67 person is. There’s no personal information listed on their profile. Except that they’re male, thirty-seven, from Kansas and, apparently, they like inserting things inside themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Bang for Your Buck

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just a 5,700-word dick joke. Like. It’s just—it’s just one big dick joke.

Castiel finds it by accident. It. Or them, maybe. The thing. _Things_. He’s not sure what to call it.

It’s Tuesday—because, as Dean would say, this shit always happens on Tuesdays—and Castiel wakes up to find the coffee pot still hot, his mug left in the drying rack, and a fresh loaf of bread in the cupboard. He pours himself coffee and makes himself toast and wanders into the library to eat.

Sam’s in the bunker somewhere, doing whatever it is he does on days off, and Dean is most likely in the gym or the garage. Castiel is alone with nothing but his breakfast and Dean’s laptop, sitting open across the table from him. 

Castiel pulls it closer, turning it around and pressing a button on the trackpad so the screen flickers into life. Sam keeps telling Dean they should buy him his own. Dean complains they’re too expensive. He doesn’t seem to mind sharing, especially since all Castiel really does is browse the weather and watch wildlife videos, and occasionally listen to music. Dean’s pretty good about clearing his browser history—something Sam told Castiel was important in case he ever, “Well. You know.” Castiel doesn’t know. But apparently it’s very important.

Either way, most days, when Castiel types something in the address bar, rarely does anything ever try to fill itself in, so he assumes that means Dean cleared the browser history.

But today, on this random, uneventful Tuesday morning, Castiel types something in the address bar and lo, more links pop up. Castiel clicks on one called “Tom Cat Reviews”, because he likes cats, but he’s not sure if he understands why they need to be reviewed. 

The page loads. Castiel frowns at the screen.

“Those are not cats,” he says to no one in particular. 

Instead of tom cats that need good homes, the page has images of various objects in a wide assortment of colors and sizes and prices, the common factor being that the majority of them are shaped like male genitalia.

Now, Castiel’s not an idiot. He knows what a sex toy is, thank you. It’s one of the many perks of observing humanity for millennia. And knowing this, in hindsight, he probably should have clicked out and gone to YouTube like he had been planning to. And he was planning to. 

It’s just that, as he’s scrolling back up to the top of the page, something familiar flashes by and his scrolling comes to an abrupt halt. 

There, on the screen, in bright blue, is a link. 

It says: Click to read more of **GotImpala67** ’s reviews.

///

Snooping is bad. Dean has told him—admittedly countless times, but that was back when they first met and Castiel was still learning how to deal with humans at a much closer range—that sometimes people need to have private things for themselves. Because of this, Castiel never goes through Sam’s notebooks, or the shoebox-sized case Dean keeps under his bed, unless he’s explicitly invited to.

So Castiel doesn’t go to that misleading website again. At least, not on Dean’s laptop. His phone is a completely different case. Really, it’s not snooping, because it’s his phone and he can do whatever he wants with it. Who knows, maybe he would have wound up on this website anyway, one day. He does have an affinity for Googling cats. 

And it’s not like he knows who this GotImpala67 person is. There’s no personal information listed on their profile. Except that they’re male, thirty-seven, from Kansas and, apparently, they like inserting things inside themselves. 

Castiel just… very strongly suspects, based off a number of variables, that it’s Dean. Including but not limited to: he’s known Dean for several years, Dean is obsessed with his car, and he’s very uncreative when it comes to usernames. 

But still. He doesn’t know for sure. So, really, it’s not snooping at all.

  
**JELLY CARRIBBEAN VIBE** $19.95  
4 of 4 people found this review helpful  
**If you need to get lei’d** – **GotImpala67**  
★ ★ ✰ ✰ ✰  
I wouldn’t call this thing dependable. It was good the first few times before I really got used to using anything, but after maybe five times it wasn’t doing the job anymore. It’s too slender and I ain’t a size queen. There’s no base so it slips out too easily, plus it’s noisy as fuck so you spend more time worrying someone is gonna hear than you do getting off. Or maybe that’s just me. Good for a first timer I guess.

Was this review helpful to you? Yes | No  


///

“You playing that damn cat game again?” Dean asks. Castiel drops his phone into his lap, face-down, and clears his throat.

“No,” he says.

Dean just stares at him for a moment. He looks down at Castiel’s phone in his lap. Then he says, “Okay.”

He turns back to the stove, where he’s got dinner cooking in a pot. Sam’s frowning at a file across the table from Castiel, hair tucked behind his ear, not paying attention. Dean keeps talking about whatever it was he was talking about before he interrupted Castiel’s concentration. “So, anyway, like I was saying—”

Castiel knows Dean. Another perk of being an angel, he was able to read his mind at will. Which, he supposes, falls under the “no snooping” rule, so he didn’t do it very often, except during times when Dean’s thoughts were especially loud and he couldn’t really help but overhear. 

Aside from that, he also had the privilege of yanking Dean out of the pit and reuniting his soul with his body. Which gave Castiel plenty of time to get rather intimate with Dean’s soul. Not—not like _that_ , but Castiel spent time dusting off the Hell grime, the demon smoke, shining it like he was polishing a trophy he was particularly proud of. He rebuilt Dean’s body down to the atoms, the chemical compounds. Every little thing that made Dean who he is, Castiel healed it and shaped it and put it back together.

So he knows. He knows _things_. About Dean. Things that he wasn’t even sure Dean knew about himself, outside of a one-time experience he had with a woman when he was nineteen. But now, because of this purely accidental mishap, he can’t help but wonder if Dean’s aware. If he’s scratched that particular itch yet. If he found the Jelly Caribbean vibrator too slender and noisy. 

Castiel shakes himself off. They’re supposed to be discussing a case, and judging by Dean’s irritated expression, he’s missed something important again. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Dude, are you feeling okay?” Dean asks. He’s stopped stirring the pot and is instead holding a Tupperware container. He has his other hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “That’s like, the fifth time you’ve zoned out in ten minutes. You going for a record or something?” 

“No,” Castiel says. “I mean, I’m fine. I just… didn’t sleep well.” 

“Okay,” Dean says again. “Well, we’re heading out. We got a mutt to hunt.”

///

They put the beast down easily enough. No one gets seriously injured, which they count as a win. Dean takes them out for dinner in celebration, which is not much different than any other dinner on the road. Dean orders his usual bacon cheeseburger, Sam a salad, and Castiel debates the club wrap over the sandwich before deciding on the wrap.

“Man, if I never have to hunt another rugaru, I will die a happy man,” Dean says. He’s got his arm slung over the back of the booth, close enough that Castiel can feel its weight over his shoulders. “Slimy gross bastards.” 

“I think you burned off half my eyebrow,” Sam says, rubbing at his face.

“I was aiming for your hair,” Dean says. Sam kicks him under the table. The impact sends Dean bumping into Castiel’s side. Dean just laughs, dodges Sam’s next kick, and nearly sends his glass of Coke into Castiel’s lap in the process. 

“Hey, hey! Respect your elders,” Dean says. 

“Bite me,” Sam says. 

“Are we going back to Lebanon?” Castiel asks. 

“Why? Got a hot date?” Dean gives him a wolfish grin. When Castiel doesn’t respond, Dean drops it and shrugs a shoulder. “Was probably gonna get a motel. It’s a long drive and it’s already late. I’m getting tired.” 

“Same,” Sam says. 

“No one asked you, Unibrow,” Dean says. Sam huffs. 

“All right,” Castiel says. “I’ll have to charge my phone in the motel, then.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t wanna miss out on another exciting weather update.”

///

That night they hunker down in a Sleep-EZ. Dean gets the pull-out because he loses rock-paper-scissors, even though Castiel offered to take it since Dean drove. Dean waves him off and gets his toiletry bag out of his duffle.

It’s a quiet evening. Sam falls asleep first, snoring away, and Dean starts yawning enough that Castiel finally shoos him off the bed, away from the episode of _Hell’s Kitchen_ he’s put on. Dean mumbles but collapses onto the pull-out and is asleep in just a few minutes. 

Castiel tries to keep his attention on the television, but it keeps drifting towards his phone, until finally he can’t resist temptation any longer. He unplugs it and opens up the mobile browser.

  
**ALL AMERICAN WHOPPER** $32.95  
7 of 7 people found this review helpful  
**Meat's a little undercooked** – **GotImpala67**  
★ ★ ★ ✰ ✰  
Once you get past the fact it's flesh colored and named after a burger it’s not too bad. Good size, lots of texture, pretty realistic from what I can tell based off my own non-detachable version. Vibe’s okay. Suction cup is probably useful but I haven’t tested it out. Kinda lacks a good firmness. Might need to send it back for a few more minutes on the grill.

Was this review helpful to you? Yes | No  


///

Castiel has a theory.

And like any good scientist or strategist or friend with a cat-like curiosity, he aims to solve it. He’s calculated the best moves for heavenly battles. He’s trained for centuries. He laid siege to Hell to rescue the Righteous Man. He thoughtfully and gracefully undid all the knots keeping him tethered to the Host and performed an artful dismount from Heaven and landed flat on his ass—that one doesn’t count.

So these are the facts:  
• Dean has a healthy sexual appetite.  
• He has… certain desires, however suppressed they may be.  
• He does, indeed, “Got Impala.”  
• He’s prone to making use of terrible puns and bad jokes.

It’s not exactly unreasonable to believe Dean may be experimenting with phallic-shaped objects. It’s not unfathomable that Dean might have inserted something boasting “realistic texture—you can even feel the veins!” that’s named after a famous hamburger inside himself. 

Dean’s a little odd, despite what he tries to make everyone else think. Castiel might not have been born a human, but he’s been around humanity long enough to know that re-watching Clint Eastwood westerns once a week is a bit peculiar. 

He’s not going to judge Dean for it. He’s just curious if these things might all be connected, is all. There’s absolutely no personal merit to be gained here.

///

On the way back to the Bunker, Castiel leans over the seat and asks, “What exactly is it about those particular westerns that rewards weekly re-watches?”

Dean, who was in the middle of arguing that grunge rock originated in Montesano, not Seattle, says, “What?”

“I’m just curious,” Castiel says. 

Sam snorts out a laugh. “He has a crush on Blondie.” 

“ _What?_ ” Dean says again. “No I don’t. Shut up.” 

“I suppose that’s understandable,” Castiel says. “Cowboys are often hailed as the pinnacle of male attractiveness, particularly in the United States, right?”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Stop talking.”

Sam grins and turns back to Castiel. “He’s gets a little sore when you call him out on his fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish,” Dean snaps. 

“Dean, you still have that cowboy outfit you got in Sunrise. I don’t even want to know what you do with it.”

“I don’t do anything with it,” Dean says. “It’s authentic.” 

Sam winks at Castiel and says, “Sure.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says. To Castiel, he says, “I like old movies, Cas. They’re good stories.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “So it has nothing to do with any sexual attraction towards, um. Blondie?”

Sam bursts out laughing and Dean’s face goes red, all the way to the tips of his ears. Castiel's seen Dean blush before, but never quite to this extent. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and he doesn’t look at either of them.

“Y’know what?” he says. “Fuck you both.”

Sam just laughs harder.

///

While it’s not exactly concrete evidence or a confession, Dean didn’t exactly deny having any attraction to cowboys, either.

And it’s none of Castiel’s business, really, if Dean is attracted to men or not. It’s not information Dean has voluntarily shared with him, so obviously Dean doesn’t want him to know if he is, in fact, attracted to men. But Dean knows he can tell Castiel anything and Castiel won’t judge him, which probably means he isn’t. Because, if he were, he would probably tell him.

Unless he doesn’t know. In which case, Castiel needs to make sure he does.

“I like it when you share things with me,” he says. 

Dean pauses, hand reaching for a loaf of bread, and looks at him with a frown. 

In hindsight, maybe it was an odd response to Dean telling him he loved banana muffins as he set a pack into the shopping cart, but Sam stayed home and the bread aisle is empty, so it seemed like a good time to bring it up.

“Okay,” Dean says. He drops the bread next to the muffins and moves forward. 

“I just mean, you can tell me things,” Castiel says. “Anything.”

Dean keeps frowning. 

“Anything at all,” Castiel adds.

Dean stops the cart and looks at him. “Are you okay?”

Castiel frowns back. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’re being kinda…” Dean gestures vaguely. 

“I’m just saying,” Castiel says. “If ever you want to tell me things, anything at all, you can.”

Dean watches him for a minute. Then his shoulders relax. “Yeah, Cas, I know.” 

Castiel nods, smiles. Good, that’s good. Dean smiles back and claps him on the shoulder, gives it a gentle squeeze. Then he goes back to the shopping.

///

Dean gets a package in the mail.

The bunker doesn’t have an actual mailbox, so he has to drive into town to get it. Castiel doesn’t hear him leave. He and Sam spend most of the morning in the library, transferring text onto Sam’s laptop for his digital archive, Castiel helping him with the translations, and it’s only after the front door bangs closed and Dean wanders past that Castiel even realizes he was gone. 

“Hey,” Sam calls out to him, just before Dean can disappear around a corner.

“Yeah?” Dean calls back. 

“Nothing, just hey,” Sam says. Then he points. “What is that?” 

Castiel looks up. Dean’s standing half in the doorway leading to the bedrooms, not quite looking at them. He has something tucked under his arm. 

“What’s what?” Dean asks. 

“That box,” Sam says. Then, “Dude, did you order something off eBay again?” 

The package is fairly small, no bigger than a shoebox. It’s just a plain, boring brown box. Still, Dean shifts it, moves it further out of sight, and looks down the hallway like he’s trying to find an escape route. 

“No,” he says. “It’s—uh. I just. It—Baby needed a new part, so—”

“She seems to be running fine to me.” 

“No,” Dean says again. Then, “Yeah, she—no. Yeah.” 

Sam blinks. Dean nods, licks his lips.

“Okay,” he says, then disappears. 

Sam sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever.”

///

Considering the Impala needs a new part, Dean doesn’t seem to spend any time working on it. Bizarre, but Castiel doesn’t have time to think about it, since Sam drags them off to a hunt in Montana, and then gets hurt. Thankfully it’s minor, but it does pose enough of a distraction that Castiel forgets about checking for another review. It’s not until they’re settled down in a motel for the evening that he remembers.

He tries to be discrete when he checks, but it’s unnecessary. Both Dean and Sam are distracted, Dean with his own phone, and Sam is too busy wincing every time he moves to pay any attention to what anyone else is doing. 

There is another review, posted the day after Dean got his mystery package. Castiel draws another mental checkmark down on his Suspiciously Like Dean chart.

  
**HOLY WAND - PINK** $24.95  
3 of 4 people found this review helpful  
**Too much room for the Lord** – **GotImpala67**  
★ ★ ✰ ✰ ✰  
If I knew I was going to be this disappointed I would have just rewatched the Dexter finale. Not sure what I was thinking. Too slim, too loud, too pokey but not the right kind of pokey. Feels like you’re going to the doctor’s office for an exam. That is NOT a recommendation for use in nurse roleplay. 

Was this review helpful to you? Yes | No  


Unlike the other reviews, however, this one has comments on it. Castiel hasn’t spent much of his existence thinking about sex toys, admittedly (although the percentage of time thinking of them has definitely increased lately—or, rather, maybe just one person in particular using them) but he’s not exactly surprised to learn that people have opinions on them.

He clicks on the comments.

  
BigDDaddy  
your reviews are funny. seems like your not having much luck finding a good fit. maybe you should try a real dick. where in kansas are you? maybe we can arrange a meeting ;) 

GotImpala67  
I think you mean “you’re.” And you have “daddy” in your name. Not even I have that many daddy issues. 

BigDDaddy  
you scared of big dick? lol 

GotImpala67  
I’ve probably seen bigger looking in the mirror, buddy. 

BigDDaddy  
you sound like a size queen. probly why your not satisfied. need a big dick to fill you up

The last comment was left a few seconds ago, the one before that, only a minute before. Carefully, he glances over at Dean, who is back to watching television, arms folded across his chest and phone abandoned by his side.

Castiel clicks on BigDDaddy’s page. The only review he has is for one called the “The King of Cocks” that is twelve inches long. He’s rated it one star and his only comment is “mines bigger lol. dm me if you wanna fuck ;)” 

Castiel decides this guy sounds like a douchebag. He’s probably lying, anyway. He hits the “direct message” button, only to be told he has to sign up for an account. It’s an easy process, just choosing a username and an email. Castiel types in his information but gets stuck on a username.

The television goes back to commercials and Dean picks his phone up again. Castiel watches him out from the corner of his eye. On television, a man with a headset drones on about a lint roller. 

Castiel makes up a username. The page loads, bringing him back to the main page, now with more options. He goes back to GotImpala67’s page, finds there’s more comments. Castiel glances over at Dean again. He’s frowning down at his phone, thumbs tapping on the screen.

  
GotImpala67  
Does this line of conversation normally work for you? 

BigDDaddy  
havent had any complains ;) you ever beenfuck a real dick before

GotImpala67  
What’s beenfuck?

BigDDaddy  
tell your addres and ill show you. ill bend you over and fck your tite ass ;)

Castiel grits his teeth and types out a message.

  
LittleSchticky  
Perhaps your messages would be more effective if you utilized proper spelling. Or if you weren’t a giant douchebag. 

To GotImpala67, he types:

  
LittleSchticky  
I’m sorry your experience has been unsatisfactory so far. 

If Dean notices his comment, he doesn’t make any indication.

///

Castiel wakes up with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the pull-out, and three messages in his inbox on Tom Cat Reviews. The first two are from BigDDaddy, which he probably should have expected. In one, he asks Castiel if he wants “a big brutal daddy” to “reck his lil virgin ass.” Castiel doesn’t. The next message is a picture of an erect penis that Castiel assumes is BigDDaddy’s. Shockingly, it is nowhere near as large as advertised.

(As a brief aside, Castiel is not vain about his physical appearance by any means, since technically his body is not his real body, even though he’s come to feel at home in it. And though he still can’t quite understand why men are so eager to brag about the size of their penises, he’s notes, with just a smidgen of pride, that his penis is both bigger and nicer looking.)

He messages him back: “You should probably get that sore looked at by a physician.” Then he blocks him.

The second message is from GotImpala67’s. Castiel’s stomach does a funny little flutter. He opens it.

  
GotImpala67  
Hey, thanks for the comment. You got any recommendations?

Castiel frowns. Recommendations for what?

  
LittleSchticky  
Recommendations for what?

He barely manages to shove his phone away into his pocket before Dean is ushering him and Sam out the room and into the car, complaining of hunger and bemoaning Sam for taking so long in the shower.

“I’m _hurt_ ,” Sam says. “It’s going to take me a bit longer than normal, Dean.”

“Lousy excuse,” Dean says. “Hey, look—this place is called The Roosteraunt.” 

Sam groans as Dean pulls into the parking lot with a grin and kills the engine. They pile out of the car, Sam dragging his feet. Dean holds the door open for them, eyes twinkling. Inside, the restaurant is completely covered in various rooster decorations. Dean doesn’t stop grinning. 

“Don’t.” Sam points a finger at him. “Don’t even—”

“Aww, lighten up, Sammy,” Dean says. “A little cock never hurt anyone.” 

“We’re not related.”

The waitress politely waits for them to finish bickering before she leads them over to a booth. She brings them menus and asks if they’d like coffee. Dean orders three right away and flips his menu open. Sam glares down at his menu like it’s offended him personally. Castiel feels Dean’s knee press against his under the table. He looks at him but Dean’s frowning at his menu. 

After a few minutes of silence, Castiel asks, “By ‘little’ do you mean the size, or the amount?”

Dean looks up at him, then at Sam, who puts his menu down very deliberately and folds his hands on top of it, suddenly incredibly interested in the conversation. 

Dean shifts in his seat, the tips of his ears going pink. “Uh.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says, his words precise. “Do you mean the size of the cock, or the amount of cock?” 

“Hey, look,” Dean says, holding his menu higher and closer to his face. “They’ve got—uh. They—they have bacon.” 

“What about a big cock?” Castiel asks. 

Sam barks out an obnoxious laugh and Dean jolts violently, sending his coffee mug toppling over and smashing his knee into Castiel’s at the same time. Castiel grunts and reaches under the table to rub at it.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam says, dabbing at the coffee with a napkin, like that’ll do anything. Dean hides his face behind his menu.

The waitress comes by again to mop up Dean’s mess and take their order. Dean looks reluctant to hand his menu over. Sam decides not to press it, digging out his tablet to read through the news. Dean no longer seems interested in the rooster decorations. He plays with his straw wrapper, and doesn’t pull his phone out at all during breakfast. 

Castiel checks his phone under the table, but there’s no new messages.

>   
>  **SUSPICIOUS**  
>  ✔

///

Even Castiel doesn’t really understand why he’s so invested.

Maybe it’s because he finds Dean interesting, a good teacher about all things human. Dean is important to him, so he wants to know everything he can about him, to make sure he’s happy—as happy as someone like Dean can be.

Of course, if he’s honest with himself, there is also the tiny matter of Castiel finding the mental image of Dean enjoying that particular kind of physical stimulation appealing. While these sorts of mental images aren’t exactly new, especially now that he’s human again, this weird misadventure has opened up a whole new brand of mental imagery that Castiel had never considered before. 

Besides, he has a penis. It’s a pretty nice penis, he thinks. Better than BigDDaddy’s, anyway. It’s another thing he’s found a lot more enjoyable now that he’s human. Touching himself before was awkward, but now he doesn’t get hyper-focused on exactly how fast his heart beats or how many breaths per minute he makes, he can just enjoy the sensations. So, maybe, if Dean wanted—

“Dude, are you listening?” 

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“We’re home,” Dean says. “Grab your shit.” 

Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt and moves to get out of the car, feeling a twinge. He stops, hesitates. Dean watches him, waiting. Castiel grabs his bag and drags it over his thigh. 

“Um,” he says. “I’ll—I’ll catch up. I just need to—um. Check… something.” 

Dean stares at him. Then looks down at his bag. Castiel pulls it over his lap. Dean looks up at him again. He opens his mouth, looks like he wants to say something. Then he closes it. Then, very deliberately and dramatically, rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he says. He tosses the keys at him. They bounce off Castiel’s shoulder. “Lock up when you’re done.” 

He shuffles off to head inside, his arms weighed down with his bags. Castiel watches him, waits until he’s gone before he lets out his breath. He tries to distract himself with unappealing thoughts; the smell of expired milk when a carton of it burst open at the Gas ‘N’ Sip, or a demon’s true face, or that one time he accidentally saw Benny naked in Purgatory. 

Ah. That does it. 

Castiel grabs his bag and gets out of the car, making sure to lock the door behind him.

///

Maybe it is a little more personal than Castiel initially told himself.

He has no qualms about his attraction to Dean. He’s long since been aware of it. He might have been angry about it, at first, and his vessel’s—his _body’s_ —reaction to it. But once he realized that the feelings wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times Naomi shoved her claws into him, he embraced it. 

But he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. Didn’t want to impose himself on Dean any more than he already has. Dean insists he isn’t, looks sad when Castiel voices his concerns again, but this is different. Personal. Intimate.

Still, when he gets another message, he opens it up and reads it eagerly.

  
GotImpala67  
For apple pie recipes. What do you think?

Castiel frowns. What kind of recommendations would—oh. _Oh._

  
LittleSchticky  
No, I don’t have any recommendations. Though BigDDaddy may have a point: engaging in relations with a real person might heed better results.

He’s alone in his room, Sam having left to join a hunter named Eileen on a witch case. Dean disappeared somewhere after dinner, muttering about laundry, and Castiel hasn’t seen him since. It’s possible he’s wandered off to the living room—or what he’s called the living room, but is really just a spare bedroom he rearranged to have a couch and a big screen television in—to watch a movie.

Castiel listens for him but the hallway is quiet. He gets another message.

  
GotImpala67  
So I’ve heard.

Castiel taps his fingers against the back of his phone. He decides to try his luck.

  
LittleSchticky  
You haven’t tried?

GotImpala67  
Getting fucked by a guy? No.

LittleSchticky  
Uninterested?

GotImpala67  
I wouldn’t say that. Just kind of tired of one night stands. 

LittleSchticky  
What about a relationship? 

GotImpala67  
With a guy? Haven’t tried.

LittleSchticky  
Why not, is there no one you’re interested in?

GotImpala67  
Wouldn’t say that, either.

He stares at the screen, unsure what to say. Then his phone buzzes with a text message from Dean. His chest tightens. 

  
From: Dean [8:39pm]  
Look at the size of this shark.

The next text message is a photo of the television screen in the living room. The image is slightly blurry, but it’s definitely a large shark. That explains where Dean is, then. Castiel tells him it’s a great white, then closes the text and opens the browser again, finds another message.

  
GotImpala67  
I have to ask, what’s with the username?

LittleSchticky  
It’s the first thing I thought of.

GotImpala67  
Is it little?

LittleSchticky  
Is what little?

GotImpala67  
Your Schticky.

Castiel frowns. He doesn’t have a—oh. This double-entendre thing is an endless source of frustration. He ignores it.

  
LittleSchticky  
Have you tried pursuing a relationship with this person?

GotImpala67  
No. He’s a friend. It’s complicated. 

LittleSchticky  
Why?

GotImpala67  
Geez. Getting kind of heavy for a sex toy website, aren’t we? 

Castiel mentally kicks himself. Dean always tells him he’s too intense, that sometimes it can put people off, and that’s why they respond to him negatively during hunts, when interviewing witnesses. Castiel types out another message.

  
LittleSchticky  
I apologize. I’m just curious. 

GotImpala67  
I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t want to lose the one I have.

LittleSchticky  
What if you don’t lose him?

Castiel’s phone buzzes again. It’s another shark—a whale shark, this time. Castiel searches through his phone until he finds the shark emoji and sends it. There’s no new message for him, so he types out another.

  
LittleSchticky  
Where in Kansas are you?

He waits. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. If the answer is somewhere else, somewhere not here, Castiel will stop replying. He’ll delete his account and pretend this never happened and move on, chalk it up to a momentary lapse in sanity and a fantasy gone rogue.

He waits five minutes, ten, fifteen, twenty. He doesn’t get a text from Dean or from GotImpala67. Giving up, he leaves his phone on his nightstand and wanders down the hallway to the living room. The television is off and Dean’s nowhere to be found.

///

He checks the kitchen first—typically if Dean isn’t in his room or the living room, he’s in the kitchen. He’s not there. Castiel checks the garage next, but the lights are off and he’s not there, either. The Impala is, though, so Dean hasn’t left.

He checks the gym—nothing. The observatory—likewise. The front door is locked so Dean’s not outside. Castiel should have taken his phone with him. 

After nearly half an hour of searching he finds him in the laundry room, standing in front of the open dryer with a towel in his hands. 

“Dean?” Castiel tries. 

Dean jumps and spins around to look at him, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking away. Castiel frowns at him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Dean says. He starts folding the towel and sets it aside on the table. He throws Castiel an awkward smile and says, “I’m fine.” 

Humans are complicated. Sometimes Castiel wonders if that’s more by choice than nature—they like to make things more complicated than they need to be. He’s fairly well-versed in Dean by now, though. Well enough to know the difference between Dean’s fine “I’m fine” and his not-fine “I’m fine.”

“Dean—”

“Dammit, Cas—” Dean slams his hand down on the dryer, the sound ringing out loudly in the small room. He closes his eyes, inhales, slow, eerily still for a moment before he exhales and opens his eyes. He wets his lips, meets Castiel’s eye. “Little Schticky, huh?” 

Castiel feels all the blood in his body rush downwards, somewhere towards his feet. Dean just digs into the dryer, grabs a pair of jeans and starts folding again. Castiel glances at the door. He might not be able to teleport anymore, but he can run quickly. 

After a minute, Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket, thumbs something onto the screen, then holds it up for Castiel to see the shark emoji he sent him. 

The shark emoji he sent to the wrong window.

“Next time, make sure you look at who you’re texting,” Dean snaps. He throws his phone onto the pile of clean clothes and goes back to the laundry. 

Castiel watches him for a moment, the sharp, tense line of his shoulders, his jaw twitching. 

“I—I found the website on your laptop. I was looking for cat videos,” Castiel says. Dean pauses his folding and Castiel says, “When I realized what it was, I went to leave but—I saw the name and I suspected it was you, and I was just—”

The words get caught in his throat. Castiel shakes his head, can’t force them out. 

“I should have just left it alone instead of getting involved,” he manages. “I’m sorry.” 

It takes another minute for Dean to move, to look at him, his face carefully blank. “You were just…?” 

“What?” Castiel asks. 

“You were just what?” Dean asks. “You thought it was me, and you were just what?” 

“Um.” Castiel hesitates. “Curious?” 

Dean steps closer. “About?”

Castiel thinks he may have never been in this much pain in his life. 

“You?” he tries. 

Dean cracks. His mouth twitches—just barely. If Castiel weren’t Castiel, and if Dean weren’t Dean, it probably wouldn’t have been noticeable. But he catches it, and feels the blood start to creep back up from his feet. 

“You were… _curious_ ,” Dean says. “About whether or not I—”

“Yes.”

Dean looks him up and down, slow. Slow enough to be deliberate. He meets his eye again. 

“Why?” he asks. 

Castiel chooses his next words carefully. 

“Well, um.” He clears his throat. “I’m not, uh—I’m not one to boast, but my username was quite misleading.”

Dean breaks into a grin.

///

  
**A REAL BIG DICK** $0.00  
35 of 35 people found this review helpful  
**The best bang for your buck** – **GotImpala67**  
★★★★★  
Special shout-out to  @BigDDaddy for suggesting I get fucked by a real dick. The guy's a douchebag but he was actually right about something. Found a real, nice, big dick—not @BigDDaddy's. (I've seen it. It's not big.) Perfect length, girth, and no batteries needed. Best of all, when you’re finished it’s DTS (Down To Snuggle), no questions asked. Would rate higher but this only goes up to five stars. Thanks for the rec, @BigDDaddy!

Was this review helpful to you? Yes | No  


**Author's Note:**

> A quick search tells me Tom Cat Reviews is not a real website. However, since the dildos Dean reviews are real dildos (yes, even the Whopper): the opinions of sex toys found herein are 100% made up. I have no idea how these toys operate, so if you’re interested in buying one, please read the real reviews and don’t rely on this fic for accuracy. Also, yes, The Roosteraunt is a real place. Yes, it’s full of cocks.
> 
> Special thanks to [Nicole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers), [Julie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon), and [Kira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeasaweapon) for reading this over, but especially for putting up with my weird-ass shenanigans all the time.
> 
> Sometimes I hang around [Tumblr](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com).


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